


you put it back together (don't let it fall apart)

by DownCameTheRain



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, it's another Tony has to rescue Peter kind of fic, tony stark to the rescue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 10:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15386667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DownCameTheRain/pseuds/DownCameTheRain
Summary: It takes weeks before Tony notices something is wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know I should be finishing up my other story but this plot bunny came to me and I had to write it. This is definitely inspired by something, but I'm gonna wait until next chapter to say what it is so I don't spoil it! Ten points to you if you can figure it out. ;)
> 
> Tags will be added as I go. Rated for future language.

On Monday, Happy brings Peter upstate. There is a room full of reporters, cameras charged and ready to roll, waiting to snap pictures and take videos of the newest Avenger. And then, to Tony's surprise, Peter backs down and tells him he doesn't want it after all. Tony doesn't question it, but he should.

Instead, when Peter starts to leave and turns back to ask Tony if it was a test, Tony tells him it was. It becomes one, then. Not a test for Peter, but a test for Tony.

He uses the confusion to propose to Pepper in front of all the questioning eyes.

Peter leaves and doesn't come back.

 

* * *

 

It takes weeks before Tony notices something is wrong.

The thing is, Peter may not want to be an Avenger just yet, but the rules are the same. He still has to check in with Happy, who checks in with Tony. It's the usual goody-two-shoes stuff. Peter gives an old lady directions, saves a cat from a tree, stops a thug from stealing a car. Tony keeps tabs on him, keeps a distant watch to make sure he doesn't split another ferry in half.

Peter knows what he's supposed to do, but one day, he stops calling. He doesn't text. He doesn't show up on the radar at all. There's radio silence for three days and then he is back like nothing happened. Through Happy, he asks Tony if he can come tinker in the lab in the compound.

“I'm working on a new web shooter,” he says, and Tony is distracted, busy with engagement parties and wedding plans and get-togethers with people he doesn't know or care about.

“Tell him it's fine as long as he doesn't break anything,” he tells Happy. “He breaks it, he buys it. Wait, do I pay him?”

Happy rolls his eyes.

Peter is there the next day after school, backpack clutched tight in his hands. Tony catches him on the way to the basement levels.

“Hey, Mr. Stark!” Peter says. “Thanks for letting me do this. I just – uh, you know, don't really have access to cool tech like this.”

“You still don't,” Tony says, pressing his thumb into the keypad by the door. It lights up with recognition. Tony hits the down button. “I don't want you making anything freaky, got it? No one-handed robots, no gadgets to taze bullies.”

Peter frowns. He holds his bag tighter. He doesn't look embarrassed like Tony is hoping he will. “Of course, Mr. Stark. I just had a new design for a web shooter that I wanted to play with. Do you wanna see?”

“Maybe later.” Tony leads him through the winding hallways and toward one of his smaller, more personal labs. He presses his finger against the scanner outside. “And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Tony? Mr. Stark is my dad.”

“Oh.” Peter follows him into the room. He smiles a little as he looks around, and then, as if he's forgotten he's supposed to be surprised, his eyes go wide and his jaw drops. “Wow. This is great.”

“Uh huh. Eat your heart out. Happy will come get you in a couple hours.”

“Thanks, Tony.”

Tony checks the time. If he didn't have a meeting in five minutes, he might have noticed that, despite the many, _many_ times he's asked Peter to call him by his first name, Peter never has before this.

But he doesn't pay attention. He dashes off to his next commitment.

 

* * *

 

Peter shows up every day after school and Happy is agitated.

“Why am I playing chauffeur?” he asks.

“Because that's what I pay you for.”

“This isn't my job, Tony.”

“Chill out,” Tony says. “You can still climb the pole to success while you pick up the kid. You don't have to pick and choose.”

Happy purses his lips. “I hate you.”

“I know you do.”

When Tony wanders down to the lab, Peter is huddled at a table, his back toward the door. Tony clears his throat and Peter jumps, shoving something into his pocket. He spins his chair around.

“H-hey, Tony,” he says.

Tony arches an eyebrow. “How are the web shooters coming along?”

“Great. Uh, they're good.” Peter swipes the heel of his hand under his nose and reaches back to grab a thick, black bracelet. He holds it up. “Still working on the design part.”

“Set it down,” Tony says, and waits until Peter does before he approaches and picks it up. At Peter's curious look, he says, “I don't like being handed things. It's a whole character arc we'll get into later.”

Peter nods. He drums his fingers along his thigh while Tony examines the shooter.

“You're being unusually quiet,” Tony says. “Scared you did something wrong?”

“What?” Peter's fingers stop. “No. I … I haven't gotten very far into it, is all.”

Tony can tell. There's nothing even remotely new to the tech he's holding in his hands. It's the exact same web shooter it always has been.

“I thought you had an idea,” Tony says. He drops it back onto the table and picks through the tools sprawled out.

“I do. It's just taking a little figuring out.”

“Sure.” It's hard to say, but Tony is sure something is off. Has Peter's hair always been this slicked back and styled? Has his face always been this blank of excitement? Tony can only remember a pink cheeked kid who hovered nervously around him. This Peter doesn't seem nervous at all.

It's weird.

Tony may not be the best at social cues, mostly because he doesn't normally care to figure them out, but this one he can't ignore. He can feel it in his bones.

Something is wrong.

 

* * *

 

“Does the kid seem off to you?”

“The kid always seems off to me,” Happy says as he types away on his tablet.

“Well, duh. But I mean a new kind of off. Wasn't he always running his mouth?” He'd left Peter with only a few words. Peter had almost looked glad that Tony was getting out of his way.

“He's been less chatty, sure,” says Happy. “But I'm not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. He's a teenager. They're strange by nature.”

“Right.” Tony remembers being fifteen. Everything felt like the end of the world back then. He'd wanted to be understood, wanted to lash out against his dad, against anyone who tried to tell him what to do. He was smart, an MIT freshman with a big mouth, but he was so, so young.

“So you think it's some kind of rebellion thing?”

“I think it's some kind of hormone thing,” Happy says, not glancing up. “He's always been moody.”

“Has he?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well.” Tony clicks his tongue. That should be enough of a reason. Hormones and growing up and all the awkwardness of puberty. He should let it go.

He doesn't.

 

* * *

 

Spider-Man disappears. The more time Peter spends at the compound, the less he spends patrolling. Tony has FRIDAY track the last time the vigilante was spotted in Queens. It's been weeks. Weeks since Peter put on the suit, weeks since he started working on his web shooters and has only managed to change the clasp on the back.

Tony decides enough is enough. He's waited this long for Peter to get it together, has let himself be swept up in the all wedding madness with Pepper, but now he's teetering on the edge of frustration and is about to tip over. He pulls up security footage of his lab and combs through hours of Peter hunched over a mess of wires and broken bits of plastic. Whatever he's working on is always hidden somewhere else when Tony comes down to check on him. Tony can't decipher what it is.

“FRI, can you grab anything from that?”

“I'm afraid I'm unable to get a good view,” FRIDAY says. “Peter is blocking a majority of it.”

That's not an accident, Tony realizes. That's strategy. The kid is purposely hiding this from him.

“Is this still a hormone thing? This seems more like a gateway to drugs thing.”

“Should I prepare the Captain America PSAs?” FRIDAY asks.

“Absolutely,” says Tony. “One hundred percent. Have them ready for me in the lab. And bring up the changing body one too. It's a personal favorite of mine.”

“Will do, boss.”

 

* * *

 

“Um, Tony, is there a reason Steve Rogers is talking to me about puberty right now?”

Tony sighs and closes the door behind him. “FRI, you were supposed to play the drug one first. Puberty was the follow-up.”

Peter eyes him carefully. “Drug one?”

“Let's have a chat, kid,” Tony says, kicking out a stool. He sits across from Peter.

“I'm not doing drugs,” Peter says. “Do you honestly think I'm doing drugs?”

“I honestly can't figure out what's going on with you. I get the new look.” He motions toward Peter's hair, toward his plain shirt without any nerdy graphics on it. “Reinventing yourself as you get older. That's all good and dandy. What I _don't_ get is how you've spent so much time down here and have done nothing to your web shooters.”

He's trying to give Peter an opportunity to tell the truth. Trying to give him an out. But Peter doesn't falter in his lie, and that bothers Tony more than anything else.

“I tried a few things and they didn't work.”

“Yeah? Well, let me see them. Maybe I can help.”

“You can't,” Peter says quickly. “Uh, I mean, I threw them away already.”

Tony sits back. “You threw them away?”

“Yeah.”

“Instead of re-using the expensive parts I nicely let you have access to, you _threw them away_?”

“Um.” Peter stares down at his hands. He doesn't apologize. He doesn't do anything at all.

“All right,” Tony says, rising to his feet. There's a bitterness in his voice he can't disguise. “Next time, don't throw out my stuff without asking,” he says, even though he knows that's not the problem. The problem is Peter is lying. There was never anything to throw away. “You're done for today. Go get Happy to take you home.”

Peter looks up, startled. “Tony –”

“Now, kid.”

Peter doesn't move for a long moment. He's shifting his gaze between Tony and the table. If he wants to sneak out whatever he's working on, he'll have to do it in front of Tony, right here and now.

In the end, he decides against it, snatching up the web shooter as though it's what he really wants. He grabs his backpack off the floor and slinks out.

Tony wastes no time digging through the drawers.

 

* * *

 

“Okay,” says Happy after Tony has sorted through the clump of materials and is trying to figure out what they are. “You were right.”

“I'm always right,” Tony says.

“Are you gonna shut up and let me tell you what you were right about?”

Tony turns his attention away from Peter's mysterious project and faces Happy. “Okay, blow me away.”

“The kid,” Happy says. “You were right about him being off.”

There's no satisfaction in the words. Plenty of times Tony has had feelings about people that never lead anywhere. To hear them echoed back now in confirmation doesn't make him feel any better.

“What'd he do?”

“He told me you thought he was doing drugs,” Happy says, yanking his phone from his pocket when it starts to ring. “Is he?”

“I don't know.”

“Anyway.” Happy shuts the sound off. “He was grumbling the whole way home and saying some not very nice things about you and when I told him to knock it off, he jumped out of the car.”

“What was he saying about me?” Tony asks. Happy gives him a skeptical look.

“He _jumped out of the car_ , Tony. While it was moving.”

Tony presses his palm to his forehead and threads his hand back through his hair. “Okay, yeah, that part is weird too.” It's all beyond weird. Tony isn't quite sure what to do with him. He isn't quite sure what to do with anything anymore.

“He has a friend, right?” he says. “The one who called the night Peter took down my jet?”

“Yeah, what about him?”

“Can you get me his number?”

Happy doesn't ask why. He just unlocks his screen and starts flipping through it.

 

* * *

 

Peter's friend is named Ned, and he talks so fast Tony can barely follow along. Ned reminds him a lot of the way Peter used to behave around him, so when Tony halts him in the middle of a sentence and asks if Peter is acting different lately, he's not surprised that Ned sputters and pauses.

“Different?” Ned says, his voice jumping an octave. “Different how?”

“Out of the ordinary. You know, not like himself? I don't know how much more obvious to make it.”

“Well, I – I mean –”

“You're not gonna lie to me too, are you, kid?” Tony says. “Cause I'm getting way too old to berate teenagers.”

Ned gets quieter, serious. “Peter lied to you?”

“He also jumped out of a moving vehicle. You can't tell me you haven't noticed he isn't swinging around saving little old ladies like he used to.”

“I've noticed,” Ned says. “I just thought … “ He breathes out into the speaker of his phone, a shaky, unsure sound. “Sometimes he gets into a funk. It's … it's just a thing that started happening after his uncle – well, you know. But this time ...”

“It's different,” Tony finishes.

“It's different,” Ned agrees. “He's never not wanted to do Spider-Man stuff. Now all he wants to do is work in your lab. I thought maybe he needed a break. But he's missing practices and skipping school and stuff.”

Tony nods to himself. The last time Peter was doing suspicious things like this was when he was trying to prove himself to Tony. When he wanted nothing more than to be an Avenger. But he made the decision on his own. He told Tony no and stood strong.

So what is this?

“Keep an eye on him for me,” Tony says. “And don't tell him I called you. I'd rather not have another outburst.”

“Okay, Mr. Stark,” Ned says. He hesitates a moment. “You'll figure out what's going on with him, right?”

“I'm gonna try my best, kid. Promise.”

 

* * *

 

Tony _does_ try his best, but his best, it proves, isn't enough to unravel what's going on. Peter shows up at the lab the next day and he doesn't acknowledge what happened the last time he was here. He just greets Tony with a smile and heads downstairs with an annoyed Happy.

Tony gets a little manic. He convinces Peter to put on his suit, under the guise he wants to run some updates and needs to check things out, and then has FRIDAY run a diagnostic test on Peter while he's in it. He checks his vitals, he runs a blood test – a small, little poke so small Peter doesn't even feel it – but nothing comes back wrong. There are no drugs in his system. Nothing toxic. Nothing unbalanced. Even his hormone levels are normal.

Peter settles back into his tinkering with the suit still on.

“Boss, I think perhaps Peter is just experiencing emotional turmoil,” FRIDAY says. “Stress can cause outbursts in people of all ages. I can recommend a therapist if needed.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, sighing. “I doubt he's gonna be open to that.”

He watches Peter on the security camera. The kid is working away, fingers fluttering, head whipping back and forth to the piece of paper next to him and the copper in front. Tony couldn't piece together what he found after he found it. It's was all a disjointed clutter of nonsense.

On the monitor, Peter catches the edge of his thumb in between the blades of a wire cutter. Tony can see blood bubble to the surface, but Peter doesn't notice. His vitals don't change either.

“FRI,” Tony says. “Do me a favor and send a shock through the suit.”

“A shock, boss?”

“Yeah. Just a mild one. Something to get his pulse up for a second.”

Tony observes his reaction. When nothing happens, he asks, “Did you do it?”

“Yes, boss.”

“Send another. Stronger.”

Still, nothing happens. Peter doesn't jump or stop moving. His pulse is strong, his blood pressure is just right.

Concern settles in Tony's chest. Down in the lab, he doesn't announce his presence. He picks up a small screwdriver and, before Peter can turn around, throws it at him. The theory he's brewing in his brain, the theory that tells him Peter won't reach out and catch it, comes true. It hits Peter in the back of the head. FRIDAY displays the same normal vitals on the inside of Tony's glasses.

Peter's reflexes are non-existent. Peter isn't feeling the pain he should be feeling.

He faces Tony with a furrowed brow. Something flashes in his eyes, so fast Tony almost misses it, but he sees it. Another color. Blue, almost like ice. Then brown filters back into his irises where it belongs.

Tony has seen this before, only once, but he knows now why Peter is different. Why he's been behaving the way he has. Because this thing in front of him, this thing wearing Peter's face, using Peter's body and voice?

It isn't Peter at all.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna say thanks to the person who commented here as well as the few people who messaged me on other platforms to let me know about the person who is copying this story. I haven't read their story, so I don't know how accurate the claims are, but I appreciate you guys being so vigilant about it and letting me know! I don't think there's anything I can really do so I'm not gonna worry too much.
> 
> Sorry for the super long wait and thanks for all the support! Hope this chapter doesn't disappoint! :)

Tony knows one thing right away: He can't let this creature leave.

Whatever it is, it's evident it doesn't have Peter's heightened sense of danger. Tony uses that to his advantage. He feigns a look of innocence at its irritated expression and says, “Just trying to keep you on your toes. Make sure your brain hasn't melted.”

The thing snorts and turns back around. Tony doesn't falter. He keeps his motions fluid and calm, picks through drawers and waits to make sure the thing doesn't catch on, and then snatches a crowbar and bashes it upside the head.

It goes down in a heap.

Tony gets to work.

 

* * *

 

Securing the creature to a chair is easy enough. Tony snaps magnetic restraints on the arms and legs. He picks a metal seat strong enough to sustain the initial struggling he knows the creature will go through once it wakes. Normally, he wouldn't hesitate to destroy this thing, but there are too many unknown factors here to let it go. If this being is walking around looking like Peter, then where is the real Peter?

Tony needs answers.

“FRI,” he says. “Lock down this floor. Send the researches upstairs. Tell them there's some kind of gas leak or something. I don't care. Just get them out until I figure out what I'm dealing with.”

“On it,” FRIDAY says.

A low groan brings Tony back to attention. He leans against the edge of a table and crosses his arms, watching the creature blink itself awake. It meets his eyes.

“T-Tony?” it says. It gives a weak pull at the bindings. To Tony's surprise, it doesn't try to break free. It just shifts a little, forehead wrinkling. “What's going on?”

“Cut the bullshit,” Tony says. “I know you're not him.”

“Huh? I – I'm not who?”

“You're not the kid, Lindsay Lohan. You've Parent Trapped me. Congrats.”

“What?” The creature sits straighter. There's no tension in its body, but Tony can see its fingers twitching. “What're you talking about? Tony, why am I tied up?”

“You're tied up,” Tony says, “Because you're an impostor masquerading as a fifteen-year-old. Speaking of, where _is_ Peter? I'm sure you know, since you look exactly like him.”

“I _am_ Peter. Tony –”

Tony cuts him off with an irritated sigh. “How long are we gonna do this? Cause I can keep you here for weeks before someone notices. You do still have to eat, don't you? Or are you some kind of alien creature? Personally, my guess is you're a clone and you got the kid's DNA somewhere. Cause let's be real, who wouldn't wanna be Spider-Man?”

The creature stares at him. He sputters, an action so akin to Peter's real personality that Tony actually pauses for a second in lingering doubt, but as soon as it's there, it's gone, and the creature's face wipes clean of emotion.

“That's cute,” it says, lips curling up in a dark smile.

Tony narrows his eyes. “What's cute?”

“You think I'm a clone. But I'm not, Tony. I _am_ Peter. Or, more exactly, I'm using his body.” It shrugs lazily. “He is still very much alive in here, screaming away.”

Tony's blood goes cold. The world goes still. This is not what he was expecting. A replica, yes. But for this thing to _actually_ be Peter, to have him trapped inside his own mind while it uses his body?

He breathes in through his nose and pushes away from the table. “What are you, exactly?”

“That's none of your business, Tony Stark,” Peter's lips say, but his voice is wrong, too deep and gritty.

Tony crosses his way over to the workbench. He trails his fingers along the cold surface and takes inventory. “I'd beg to differ. See, you've taken my mentee hostage, and if that doesn't reflect on me as a mentor, I just don't know what does. So how about you work with me here and I get you sent back to whatever hell you dug yourself out of?”

“How about I don't?”

“We can play that way,” says Tony. “I've got lots of toys here. What should we try first?”

“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” Peter says. “This is still Peter's body. Whatever you do to me, you'll do to him. And you wouldn't wanna hurt your precious little Peter Parker, would you?”

This thing is right. Tony can't get to it in this form. Not without endangering Peter. He has to re-calibrate. He has to make a plan. Get Peter free. But how?

“I'm sure I can figure something out.”

“I could ruin him, you know,” Peter says, suddenly, as if the thought just occurred. “I could bite through his tongue right now. Make him bleed out in front of you.”

Tony stiffens at the words. His heart pounds painfully in his chest. “You could,” he says. He glances down at the drawers he left open. What can he use? There, a rag. As long as he keeps Peter's teeth away from his tongue, he can stall for more time. “But you won't.”

Peter smiles that evil smile again. “Oh really? And why's that?”

Tony dives. He grabs the rag and he's at Peter's side, digging his fingers into Peter's cheeks, stuffing the cloth into his mouth. Peter thrashes against him. Once Tony has a strong enough hold, he fumbles behind him with his free hand and riffles through more drawers until he finds a roll of tape and smashes a long strip over the rag. It's crude and sloppy, but it keeps Peter from spitting out the material.

Peter snarls and growls. In one swift move, he slams his head against the back of the chair. A loud snap echoes through the room. Tony jumps forward and gets a firm grip of his hair, holding him still.

“God damn it,” he says. “Would you just chill out?” Across his glasses, FRIDAY shows a slowly rising pulse from the suit's vital tracking. Tony slips out of his overshirt and balls it up and tapes it to the chair behind Peter's head.

“All right, Durden. Settle down while I decide what to do with you.” Tony massages his temples. Peter shoots him a heated glare.

How long has he been trapped? Weeks? Months? Tony hasn't been paying attention. Did Peter start to change before this thing took over his body, or did the thing start changing him itself? How much of the kid has actually been the kid? Tony has been so, so distracted.

Peter yanks again on his restraints and slips a wrist free. Instead of going for the rag, he goes straight for his throat, gripping tight enough to bruise. Tony doesn't know the full extent of Peter's strength, but he's nearly sure Peter could crush his own windpipe if he wanted.

He taps on his watch and activates the hand of his suit. He pries at Peter's hold, but Peter pulls back. Tony is probably breaking his fingers. He can't worry about it.

“Tazer!” Tony says. “FRIDAY, now!”

The metal fingers of his hand jam into Peter's arm and send electricity coursing through. Muscles jump and twitch. Peter's entire body spasms, his grip opening in response. Tony cuts the flow and cuffs his wrist again before Peter can stop seizing.

“Jesus Christ, this thing is resilient,” he says, panting. Peter convulses a few seconds longer and goes lax, his chin dropping toward his chest. His vitals rocket. Red warning lights flash.

“Boss,” FRIDAY says.

And then, to Tony's horror, a muffled sob escapes Peter's mouth. Sweat bubbles across his skin and drips down. He peers up and his eyes are glassy and unfocused and so very _Peter_ that Tony freezes.

“Kid?”

Peter gags. Involuntary panic takes over Tony and he rips the tape free, aware this could be a trick but also aware that if Peter throws up he could suffocate with the rag in his mouth. Peter heaves bile. His limbs are slack and he looks nothing like the rigid and tense being that had been possessing him only moments before.

Tony tips Peter's face up and looks at his irises. Still brown. Not traces of blue. “FRI, did that shock do something?”

“I believe so,” FRIDAY says. “Peter's vitals are in tune now with someone who is injured. Whatever was taking control of him didn't show any reaction to pain, but Peter is exhibiting signs of physical distress now. His body is reacting normally.”

He feels clammy under Tony's touch. Tony says, “Pete, can you hear me?” and waits for Peter to process the question.

Peter blinks up at him. “Mssr' Star',” he mumbles.

Tony's breath catches. Not once did he point out to the creature where he went wrong in his portrayal of Peter. The lack of nervousness and jittery actions. The new style. The secrets and the attitude. He might have, had they gone longer in their back-and-forth, had Tony bothered to rant. But he didn't. Which means the biggest and most important thing the creature didn't know is that no matter how many times Tony has asked Peter to call him by his first name, Peter never has.

It takes Tony until now to realize it. It takes him until now, hearing his name uttered in the only way he actually recognizes it from the kid, to see where he messed up.

"Are you alone in there?" he says. "No one else coming out to surprise me?"

Peter gives a small nod. The creature hit his head hard enough he might be concussed. He nods again when he must better understand what Tony is asking.

“Hang on, kid. Let me get you out of these.” Tony works quickly to unlock the cuffs holding Peter's wrists and ankles to the chair. Peter moans when his arm goes free. His knuckles are swelling and turning purple.

“Can you stand?” 

Peter doesn't answer. He coughs and pushes himself up on shaky limbs. His knees buckle. Tony catches him when he tilts forward.

“You're all right,” he says, but Peter's legs crumple and Tony goes down with him, lowering him to the floor, laying him on his back. Blood trickles from the corner of Peter's mouth. Tears disappear into his hairline.

“FRI,” Tony says. “Get one of the researchers down here. Someone with an actual medical degree under their belt.”

“Yes, boss.”

"And get me someone who knows how to deal with whatever this body-snatching thing is. We're not in the clear yet. Don't let anyone else down here without my permission." Tony grips Peter's trembling shoulder. “I got ya, Pete. Just hold on for me, all right? We're gonna get you fixed up. Sorry I tazed you.”

Peter shakes his head. He's making soft, wheezing noises, like the back of his throat is too dry to try to swallow. He's oddly quiet – too quiet, considering.

“You're kind of freaking me out here, kid,” Tony says. “I need you to talk to me. _Can_ you talk? That thing didn't steal your voice, did it?”

Peter squeezes his eyes closed. Weakly, he drags his good hand up and lays it at the base of his neck where dark purple bruises blossom in the outline of his own fingers. “H-hurts,” he rasps, and erupts into a bout of harsh coughs.

“Okay, okay,” Tony says. He circles Peter's wrist and pulls it away. “Take it easy. No talking then.”

He rests his grip against Peter's pulse point. It thrums erratically.

“'m' s'ry,” Peter whispers, and more tears fall. “m' s'ry, M'sr St'rk.”

“It's all right, kid.”

Peter breathes out a long, painful sound, and deflates. He goes so still that Tony has to watch the rise and fall of his chest to make sure he's alive. His heart thumps beneath Tony's hold.

“It's gonna be all right."

 

 


End file.
